


The Power of Death

by Shadsie



Category: Shadow of the Colossus
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Gen, Origin Myth, Prequel, legend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 11:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadsie/pseuds/Shadsie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In what became the Forbidden Lands, the inhabitants did not fear death, for they were well acquainted with its gatekeeper.  An alternate character intpretation on the mysterious Dormin and the events leading to its sealing. </p>
<p>(Some description of black blood and mention of human sacrifice as in the game - but nothing truly graphic).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Power of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Shadow of the Colossus is the property of Sony Entertainment. No profit is being made or sought from this fanwork; furthermore, the ideas presented here are completely my own speculations on the “maybe” nature of a mysterious game. In fact, I think the legend I present here is way off-base, but “this guess is as good as any” given the nature of the game’s story and I found the ideas worth playing with.

 

** The Power of Death **

**A Shadow of the Colossus Fan Fiction by Shadsie**

 

 

 

There once was a land where people did not fear death.  This was not because death was not present in their land, for the people there were not immortal, but because they trusted the keeper of mortality’s gates.  To say that the gatekeeper was a “being” might not be accurate – it was a “he,” a “she,” and a “we” all in one.  It went by the name of Dormin, for it was usually in a form between sleep and wakefulness, dormant until needed.  Dormin controlled beings of light and the passage of the souls of the dead. 

 

The people of the beautiful land honored Dormin with shrines and a great temple.  With Dormin present in the land, they knew that the crossing-over into the realm of spirit was not to be feared and that they could communicate with loved ones that were there quite easily.  The dead could also be brought back, usually into a new life through reincarnation and occasionally through resurrection, though the latter happened very seldom and anyone beseeching Dormin for that had to have a very good reason for asking it this. It also came with a limited timeframe in that it was as natural for the body to return to the earth as it was for the spirit to return to the spirit-realm once the marriage of the two was over.  In Dormin’s land, the spirit and the earth were well-connected, even interchangeable, where in lands where he was not known, the divide between the two was as an impenetrable wall.  Perhaps that is why Dormin became feared by the peoples of the lands outside its own – they did not have the luxury of easy connection and they found such connection inconceivable. 

 

The people in Dormin’s land also had guardians for physical life.  They had been magically-invoked long ago and were bound to great statues within Dormin’s grand temple, the Shrine of Worship.  The sixteen Colossi were of the land itself; living mountains that were a part of the earth, of stone, of metal and even of the architecture people had built, imbued with spirit and given souls.  They aided the inhabitants of the land and protected them from invaders.  The people may not have had the fear of death that people in other lands had, but that by no means meant they were eager to taste it.  Resurrection was as a difficult, sometimes messy affair.  Reincarnation meant starting life over and abandoning one’s previous name, works and memories.  Some people found much to enjoy as pure spirits while others found the spirit-world not so pleasant. 

 

Some of the Colossi had temples built for them, others merely roamed the land.  Some guarded the desert sands, some guarded the waters, some patrolled the cities and some even kept wanderers away from the land’s more dangerous features.  They were respected and well-loved by their people.  One poor creature found itself guarding censers burning with perpetual flame (used to guide lost spirits and to give praise to the heavens), even though it greatly feared fire – that is how much it loved the priests it was invoked to protect. 

 

Men in other lands learned of this beautiful land and it’s guardian of death.  The kings and chiefs of the peoples living in these lands did not like the easy attitude that the people here had toward inevitability, for they used death to control their own.  The fear of death was a very powerful tool in order to keep themselves enthroned. Rulers of tribes normally at war with one another united, because they worried that if knowledge of the Dormin spread, people would cease to fear the threat of execution.  The priests of these tribes feared that people might beseech Dormin to reverse their sacrifices – that which was deemed necessary for the running of their societies, both in appeasing their angry gods and in the ritualized ridding of the unhealthy. 

 

A lack of the fear of mortality was considered good in some cases.  When the kings and chiefs sent their young men to war, the expectation that the spirit-world was not a bad thing was considered healthy to help them to fight. However, there were many things in war that are not considered healthy for normal life.  The rulers very much wanted their civilians to live with a fear of death, for without it, their people might not listen to their orders or perhaps even be more willing and ready to sacrifice their own lives and comfort for one another, instead of merely to the king. The kings, priests and other leaders wielded the power of death like a sword. They would not let it be taken away from them.   

 

In any case, they considered the “impenetrable wall” the natural order, so Dormin and its people were “unnatural.” This is what the people were told.  They were made to believe that the Dormin was an arch-demon or an evil god, that, holding sway over the power of death, he longed to destroy everyone, or, worse yet, to allow malevolent ghosts and other wicked things loose from the spirit-world to torment mankind.  A sword was forged by men who believed the dark rumors, edged in light and possessed of great magic.  It could cut shadows and souls.  Its edge was tested on sacrificial victims.  

 

It was not, specifically, a hero’s sword.  Anyone could wield it, though, like any ordinary sword, not everyone could wield it well.  That did not matter – its effect was in its magic. The clumsiest of butchers could make it work for him.  A hero was sent to Dormin’s beautiful land, wielding the sword with the blessing of his priests.  He was tasked with destroying the land’s “arch-demon” in order to protect his people and to free the land’s inhabitants.  

 

Now, this poor man, though misguided, was a hero indeed, for he did not know how terrible was the thing he’d set out to do.  He had no idea of Dormin’s generally neutral nature, or of the benevolence it felt for its people and for all souls.  He did not know of the people’s comfort, for he was told that they lived in the thrall of fear to a wicked god. He truly believed that if he slew the Dormin that he would be saving many people. 

 

The fool rode out across the great bridge to the Shrine of Worship to beseech the Guardian of Mortality.  He dismounted his horse and gazed up at the great idols representing the Colossi and wondered about them.  He bowed low before the main altar and thrust the tip of his sword into the brickwork of the floor, which sent up a cloud of black smoke, almost like a momentary spray of blood.  Out of nothingness, Dormin materialized before him as an enormous being made of black shadow with a head crowned in elegant arching horns.  The mortal was proclaimed as an outsider, and asked his business. 

 

With that, the fight began.  The hero took up his sword and charged Dormin, who countered by showing the fool his place.  A great black fist pounded into the floor, sending the young demon-slayer reeling.  The would-be hero gritted up his courage and jumped upon one of the great shadow’s hands.  Dormin, though a being of shadow, had soft, fine fur all over its chosen form.  The young man climbed this and furiously stabbed the guardian’s back, causing Dormin to howl in pain.  The sword’s magic worked!  The Dormin shambled throughout the temple, shaking its enormous body, trying to dislodge the unwanted flea that was pricking it and causing it pain.  It threw itself against the walls and pillars of the temple and it moved very slowly.  Physical form gave Dormin its greatest power but at the price of a certain amount of freedom.  It could not move at the speed of thought, or light or death, but only as a beast of bulk. 

 

The little hero made his way to the top of Dormin’s head and braced himself between the horns.  He thrust once, twice, thrice… a fourth and a fifth time.  The hero had once seen men tap an underground reservoir of mysterious oil from the earth once – the stuff was used to light lamps and lubricate the axles of wagons and other simple machines. This was sort of like that, except for the fact that the reserve of oil that was spraying into the air and raining down upon him smelled of blood.  

 

Dormin fell to the floor with a sound like thunder, tossing the young man down.  The hero stood up and watched as the Dormin dissolved and melted into what seemed to be a lake of black blood, slicking the brickwork of the entire temple floor.  Rivers of shimmering black curled around the bases of all the mysterious temple-statues and the oil dripped down the temple steps down onto and into the earth below.  There was not a drop of it on the hero’s body and his sword remained clean. 

 

The young fool wandered to the center of the lake of blood.  He uttered a prayer and thrust his sword down into it and into the floor.  A flash of pale blue light shot out from the impact.  The blood fled and vanished.  The man looked to the statues.  He’d heard of the guardians of the land and the prayer he’d uttered in accordance with the work of his sword was one that would guarantee a seal upon that terrible god of death.  He took some time to rest and to prepare his horse for the long journey back home. 

 

At this time, all around the beautiful land, the great guardians underwent significant changes.  They had always been made of stone and earth.  From the earth around them, black oil bubbled up and became smoke and shadows, which entered them.  One Colossus pawed the earth with his hoof at the strange smoke and found his body changed.  He had always been made of earth and stone, given a soul.  Part of his stone gave way to flesh, warm and strange.  He grew long fur.  He felt blood coursing through him, which puzzled him greatly since he had not had blood before.  He felt another being within him, not an entire soul, but a part of one that resided in his new blood.  This happened to every Colossus throughout the land.  They kept on protecting their people and their lands, even after time wore on and there was no one left to protect. 

 

After many invasions and wars that the Colossi were unable to save their people from, the beautiful land became forgotten. The people of the lands could no longer rely upon Dormin, and thus gained the fear of death their invaders had.  Their cultures melded. People left the land and it became the subject of legend.  The country was declared the Forbidden Lands because of the “terrible god of death” left to sleep and dream within murderous mountain-sized beasts.  During the wars, the Colossi themselves were sealed – behind stone walls, within the confines of temples, or left to eternally guard forgotten, empty cities. 

 

The wall of Death had been sealed.  They that went to the other side stayed there and did not communicate with the living.  Resurrection did not happen anymore.  For that, Dormin needed to be awakened from dreaming and made whole.  For that, sixteen individuals would be made to spill their blood and to separate their souls from the parts of his.  Dormin knew that if it were to be made whole again, the sixteen ancient guardians, each unique, had to die.  It could take care of their souls afterward, but it was still a cruel fate.  The ghosts of its slaughtered people roamed the land, those that had been trapped in the mixing of the realms of life and death and it could not take care of them as it was. They gathered at the temple in a misguided attempt to guard the structure. 

 

Dormin needed a vessel, a body to borrow in order to become itself again. This would very likely destroy the host, sadly.  After time it had not taken measure of, it sensed the presence of a mighty hunter in the Shrine of Worship.  It also sensed the sword that had sundered it, a strong horse, and the body of a young woman whose soul had made the hard journey to the other side (which was so much harder for people these days). This warrior would make an excellent vessel, but Dormin warned him of the heavy price he would pay to beg a resurrection.

 

Dormin guessed that this young man knew that he was slaying innocent creatures.  He wasn’t like the naive hero it had met in battle in days gone by.  This man was not a wicked person, just someone whose grief and broken him inside.  He had no noble aspirations for king and country, only an agonized love for a lost maiden, his betrothed, possibly his young wife.  If anything was worth gaining guilt for, perhaps love was it.   Despite Dormin in their blood, the Colossi fought with every instinct within animals and men.  With rare exceptions, every strong living creature wants to remain alive for as long as it can, even though some love life so much they’ll do anything to bring it back. 

 

 

**END.**


End file.
